


The Prize

by LotusFlair



Series: A Series of Archival Speculations [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers for MAG 159, The Watcher's Crown, panopticon, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: Jon and Martin return from the Lonely and Elias is there to claim his prize.Spoilers for MAG 159!!!





	The Prize

**Author's Note:**

> The first portion is basically the last 5 minutes of MAG 159 with my head canon narrative added. I wanted to set the scene!

"Stubborn fool."

Peter Lukas was dead. Jon had seen to that. It took a moment for him to realize that he'd just had his first live statement in months. He felt stronger, more invigorated, but the taste was bittersweet given his current location. The Lonely was dulling the sensation, which meant his window to retrieve Martin and escape was rapidly closing. When he found Martin again, he was standing amidst the fog, eyes staring ahead, listless and alone. 

"Martin...He's gone, Martin. He's gone."

Jon moved around to face Martin and jumped at the clouded eyes staring back. The fog had already invaded, even in the short amount of time they'd been here. Or had they been here longer? It was hard to tell.

"His only wish was to die alone," Martin said, his voice echoing further and further away. 

That brought Jon back in, snarling at the thought of Peter Lukas getting any kind of wish fulfillment. Hoping to avoid a repeat of when he found him earlier, Jon put his hands on Martin's shoulders. He felt cold, his jumper barely providing any warmth. Hopefully the touch would anchor him, keep him from disappearing again.

"Tough. Listen to me, Martin. Listen--"

Martin's clouded eyes washed over him, not really seeing him but understanding that the shape of Jon was standing in front of him. There was a tiny, wistful smile, like a memory of something wonderful had briefly crossed his mind. 

"Hello, Jon..."

"Listen, I know you think you want to be here. I know you think it's safer and well...maybe it is...but we need you. _I need you_," he said. 

He felt the inadequacy of his words almost immediately. Despite the multitude of statements about the Lonely, despite the clear directions for how to escape handed to him on a silver platter, he still couldn't say what was in his heart. Some of what Peter said had lodged in his mind. What did he really know about Martin? Was he in love with a real person or an ideal? Martin was kind, eager to please, and genuinely good. He'd grown in small steps over the years. His empathy, something others would call a weakness, was his greatest strength and something that was sorely needed in the archives. Something that Jon had come to admire and tried to emulate over the last year. That didn't stop Martin from being stubborn and prone to flights of martyrdom, but it wasn't unexpected when compared to the external forces they were up against. The clear winner in making bad decisions was still Jon. 

"No you don't. Not really. Everyone's alone, but we all survive--"

"I don't just want to survive!" he said desperately. Again, he could hear the fault in his words. Martin sensed it too. His milky eyes looked downward.

"I'm sorry..." The echo was stronger even if his voice sounded weaker. Jon was losing him all over again and he wouldn't allow that to happen. But talking to Martin wasn't working. There was no amount of reason that would pull him out of his stupor. This was the Lonely's greatest trick, letting your own mind trap you in the logic of isolation and depression. Between him and Martin, however, Jon still erred on the side of rationality...but that's what had gotten them here. He'd tried so hard to rationalize things, make excuses, and it'd paralyzed him. He'd trapped himself by letting everyone else make decisions for him instead of dictating his own path. He wouldn't allow Martin to suffer for his mistakes, not again, but he also knew that he wasn't at Martin's level of expressing his emotions freely.

So, if he couldn't tell, then he'd show. Martin was a poet - a soul determined to see beauty even in the darkest creatures. He still liked spiders. Martin cared about him. Martin saw him for every flaw and virtue. And still...Martin loved him. Jon wasn't a poet. He was the Archivist, a being who took the words of others and locked them away for the Eye's consumption. He was imperfect, a body riddled with injury and bruises and scars that would never fully heal. But if he was so willing to put his body on the line to protect the people he cared about, then what did he care if he exposed his heart?

"Martin - Martin, look at me," he said. Slowly, Martin's clouded eyes met his. Jon kept a good hold on his shoulders and focused. "Look at me and tell me what you see."

He opened his mind, but instead of extracting what didn't belong to him he let Martin see him. Fully. Every facet, every scar, and every crack in whatever armor remained was laid bare. He was the scared child in need of affection, the hardened adolescent looking for answers, the cold, bitter man tasked with taking over the archives, the paranoid, frightened archivist, and the lonely monster. It was Jonathan Sims at his most vulnerable, showing himself to the one person he truly wanted to know everything.

He watched, hopefully, as the fog began to fade from Martin's eyes, returning to a bright, honeyed brown.

"I see...I see you, Jon," he said as the shape of Jon became clear and solid. He smiled as he realized what happened, what Jon was revealing. Tears sprang to his eyes as the echo faded and his voice rang clear. "I see you."

"Martin..."

They wrapped their arms around each other, squeezing as tightly as was humanly possible to withstand. Martin sank his face into Jon's shoulder, breathing heavily as the tears flowed. The impact of his emotions met him full force as he became solid again. And with those emotions came the memories of the last year, the last three years...his entire life.

"I was on my own. I was all on my own," he said. Jon reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks, smiling at the face he'd missed most since waking from the coma.

"Not anymore. Come on, let's go home," Jon said. Martin didn't immediately move with him.

"How?"

"Don't worry...I know the way."

He held out his hand and Martin took it. They started walking towards home.

***

One minute they were walking through the fog of the Lonely, the sound of a dry ocean lapping at their ears and their feet scraping across what was hopefully gravel. The next minute passed and they felt the world shift as the fog dissipated and their feet echoed off the metal platform of the Panopticon. Martin shivered as the cold seemed to catch up with him. His knees buckled, but Jon kept hold, guiding him to a sitting position. Truth he told, Jon wasn't feeling much better. The sudden rush of extracting a statement caught hold and the dizziness warned him that the threat of passing out was still on the table. He tried to ignore the darkness creeping into his vision. He kept his focus on Martin.

"Sorry," Martin said, breathing heavily. "I haven't - haven't felt this...solid in a while."

Jon sat with him, placing his hands on Martin's knees. It was as much for his benefit as it was Martin's. "Don't apologize. I think you've earned a rest."

Martin let out a breathy laugh. "You too."

Jon smiled at the notion of actually resting. The worst part of his mind imagined there was only one way of that happening. "Someday."

"How long have we been gone?" Martin asked.

"Hard to say," Jon said. "I was in the coffin for three days, but it felt like longer. Could be similar with the Lonely. I hope..."

"Daisy and Basira," Martin said, understanding where Jon's thought trailed off. "We should go find them."

"We will," Jon said. He took Martin's hand, squeezing tightly. "Just...take another minute. Get your bearings."

"I'm okay, Jon," Martin insisted. He tried to stand, but felt Jon tug at his hand.

"I'm not," Jon said. Surprised by the admission, Martin stayed sitting. Jon looked like he was trying to say something else. His eyes were intense, but vulnerable at the same time. "Martin, I-I'm sorry."

"For what?" Martin asked.

"Everything," Jon said. "You wouldn't be here...you wouldn't have done all this if I'd just...if I hadn't..."

"Died?" Martin finished. Jon nodded. "Jon, you understand how stupid that sounds, right?"

"I'm aware, but that doesn't negate my point," he said. "You were alone. I left you and I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you when you needed it."

Martin squeezed his hand. "You came back. That's what's important. And I--"

"Yes, Jon, you did come back. And I couldn't be prouder," came a voice dripping with slime and smugness. Elias descended from the upper platform, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Jon was on his feet and regretted the action immediately as the world started to spin. It was hard to focus, but he wasn't going to let Elias out of his sight. They had to leave. He had to protect Martin.

He felt a hand take his, but the voice attached sounded distant over the roar in his ears as his breaths came out heavy and labored. "Jon? Jon, what's wrong?"

"I imagine it's been a while since you had such a satisfying meal," Elias said. He'd stopped midway down the stairs, keeping the high ground so he could look down at them like a king surveying his subjects. "And Peter wasn't just a regular person sitting in a cafe, was he, Jon? No, he was decades of secrets and stories. You've come a long way since the Unknowing, but even I'm...surprised you're still standing."

"What do you want?" Martin asked, tightening his grip on Jon. 

"My prize," Elias said. 

"Peter said you...got me...if he lost...your bet," Jon said between breaths. He tried to will the double vision to clear, but it insisted on staying. He was also very aware of how jelly-like his knees were becoming. Martin sensed it too and used whatever strength he had left to keep them both upright. "What did he mean?"

"Really, Jon? You haven't figured it out?" Elias tutted. "And you were making such progress."

"_**What am I?!**_" Jon shouted, the compulsion dripping from every word. Elias's eyes widened at the force behind it and, for a moment, there was a flash of worry before the excitement took over.

"You are the Archivist. You are the Revealer of Secrets. You are the One Who Beholds All. You are the Watcher's Crown," Elias said. "And you're mine."

"That doesn't make sense," Martin said. "How can Jon--?"

"For three years you've been reading statements, Knowing them through the experiences of others. Seeing them in your dreams," Elias said, addressing Jon directly and ignoring Martin entirely. "But that was never going to be enough. No, you also needed to do some field work. The worms from Jane, the burn from Jude, the rib from Jared, the bullet you removed from Melanie. Michael Crew hefted you into the sky. You gazed upon the Dark Sun. You went into the coffin and found your way back. You regularly interacted with the Distortion, going through their doors when it suits you. No less than three Hunters have cut you with their claws. You serve the Eye. You stopped the Unknowing. You even defied The End. And now, you've carved a path through the Lonely."

"But, the Web--" Martin started.

"The Web has always been there, hasn't it, Jon? Ever since that poor boy and that Leitner. _A Guest For Mr. Spider_, correct?" Elias taunted. Jon growled as his baser instincts began to take over. He wasn't hungry anymore. He was exhausted. He was afraid. He was angry. 

"What does the Watcher's Crown do?" Martin asked. "What do you get from Jon taking statements and mutilating his body?"

"It may sound cliche, but knowledge, my dear, Martin, is indeed power," Elias said. "And here, in the Panopticon, is where I can see and know everything. Well, not everything. Not yet. The one thing every Power fears is being seen, exposed. What good is preying on another's fear if you yourself are being watched? How can you hide when nothing you do is beyond someone's sight? And now that Jon has been touched by each entity, there's not one of them who can hide from the ever watchful Eye."

"That's it, then? Power? You just want to be king of the Fears?" Martin asked incredulously.

"Exactly. And a king needs a crown," Elias said, matter-of-factly. 

Realization set in. "You're going to...No!"

"I'm not...your prize," Jon said, his voice deep and coarse. "I am not...a crown. And I am...tired of you manipulating us. This ends here, Jonah."

"I couldn't agree more," Elias said. Jon tried to steel himself from whatever attack was coming. But it didn't come for him. It went for Martin. 

"AHHHHHH!" Martin shouted. Gripping his head, Martin fell to his knees as excruciating pain ripped through his mind. As bad as it had been when Elias filled him with the worst thoughts and emotions of his mother's psyche, this was tenfold. He felt the pressure in his brain, crushing him with all the joy of a child burning ants in the sunshine. Still dizzy with fear and anger, Jon knelt by Martin, steadying him as best he could. Martin struggled in his arms, flailing as he tried to get away from the pain consuming him under Elias's ministrations.

"Martin? MARTIN!? Stop it, Elias! _**STOP IT!**_" Jon shouted.

"Gladly. But only if you submit," Elias said. "I want my crown, Jon. Give it to me and Martin goes free. Refuse and..."

Martin's screams increased as Elias put more pressure on his mind. He had the grape between his finger and thumb. One hard push and it was all over. Jon realized that his eyes were no longer blurry from exhaustion. He was crying, tears spilling on to Martin's writhing form. Why couldn't they have more time? He'd told him he wasn't alone anymore only to leave him again. The anger returned, blinding and red. He felt the Eye behind him, it's horrific pupil constricting and dilating its encouragement. He was on the cusp of another choice, one that he could never take back. But if it meant stopping Elias and saving Martin, then Jon knew what had to be done.

"No," he said harshly.

"What?" Elias said. 

Jon stood, his legs threatened to give out, but he made them do as he wished. He turned and looked at Elias Bouchard, looked at James Wright, looked at Jonah Magnus, and he saw them all freeze in fear. It was enough to stop the torture ripping through Martin's mind. Breathing heavily, tears - both his and Jon's - staining his face, Martin looked up and saw something that looked like Jon, but wasn't. It wore Jon's face, but the eyes...the eyes were black with rage and they were aimed right at Elias. 

"_**I. SAID. NO!**_" Jon roared. Elias grabbed at his head as he fell down the remaining steps, landing on the platform with a sick thud. He was still alive, but his body did an exact replica of Martin's writhing as pain invaded every corner of his mind. He started scratching at his head and face, screaming for Jon to stop. Martin watched Jon move closer until he was looming over Elias's prone form. He grabbed the older man's face so he could look at him dead on. The smile was a mirror of Elias's own smugness made darker by the sinister bent of Jon's mouth.

"**_TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE, JONAH MAGNUS_.**"

The voice was Jon's, but it wasn't. It was feral, cruel. Unstoppable. Elias's eyes widened as blood pooled and poured from his eyes, nose, and ears. He screamed until he had no voice left to use. Jon let go of his face, letting the body of Elias Bouchard and the mind of Jonah Magnus sink to the floor, their vacant eyes staring at nothing.

"_**THE KING IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE KING**_," Jon said. All at once, the fight drained out of him along with the darkness on his left eye. He looked at Martin and a barrage of emotions passed over his face: concern, relief, fear, guilt, and love.

"Jon..." Martin said.

"Martin, I..." His eyes rolled back into his head as Jon collapsed. 

"JON!" Martin shouted. Ignoring the fast-forming headache, Martin rushed to Jon's side, cradling him in his arms. He wasn't sure who was shaking more, but he could feel Jon vibrating with adrenaline and exhaustion. His breathing was short and shallow while his heart raced against his chest. Martin ran a hand through Jon's hair, attempting to soothe him. "Jon! Jon, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Please, Jon...please wake up. Don't leave me again. Don't go where I can't follow."

It was a few minutes before Jon's body finally relaxed. He breathed a deep sigh and, gradually, his eyes opened. Martin gasped. While Jon's left eye was the familiar hazel coloring his right eye remained a deep, inky black. It was a pool of starless Void that Martin could feel pulling him in. It was safe there, safe to tell his story. He could be relieved of his burden, of all the nagging thoughts and secrets keeping him up at night. All he had to do was let the Archivist...

Jon closed his eyes and the compulsion stopped. He must have felt what happened. Martin shook as newfound fear gripped him. Jon pressed his palms into his eyes, his frustration palpable. A laugh escaped that quickly turned into a sobbing. He'd made his choice and now he had to live with it.

"I'm sorry, Martin," he finally said. His voice was quiet, barely audible even within the echo-laden structure surrounding them. 

"For what?" It neither of them any good for Martin to play dumb, but he needed to hear Jon say it. When the words escaped, then he'd know it was real.

"I had to, Martin. I had to save you from him. I had to --"

Martin grabbed him once again, hugging Jon fiercely as he sobbed into Martin's shoulder. When he spoke again, the Archivist's voice was steady but brimming with fear and regret.

"I had to wear the crown."

**Author's Note:**

> Of course it's not going to end like this, but I needed to process my feelings. Oh well, on to the real Finale!


End file.
